A Mistletoe Story
by Dailenna
Summary: Royai, minor EdWin, DennyMaria, reference to FalmanxScieszka Mistletoe plays a big part in the romantic side of Christmas, but have you ever wondered what it thinks about the whole thing? This is an FMA Christmas through the eyes of a sprig of mistletoe
1. The Party

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, mistletoe, eggnog or Christmas.

**Notes:** Well, it's late. To tell the truth, I didn't expect to write a Christmas fic (I'd already touched on it with my Oliveer oneshot), but after Christmas I managed to find the time to read all of the wonderful Christmas stories everyone else had produced. I must say, the amount of times mistletoe came into the picture was amazing. I've never actually _seen_ mistletoe, but I have heard of the traditions, of course. So, anyway, I was inspired to write my own mistletoe fic (in two parts):

* * *

"**A Mistletoe Story**" by **Dailenna**

**Part One of Two: The Party**

It's that time of year again. That glorious time of year in which I can finally get out and experience life. The trees are set in place and decorated with bright bells and baubles. A roast dinner cooks in the kitchen, just out of my sight, but wafting the smell into the lounge room so that I carry the slightest smell of lamb and rosemary on me for a little while. Tinsel hangs across windows and over doorways, and lights flash around outside.

Outside. I haven't really been outside – at least, not in my memory – but I catch glimpses of it every now and then. Whenever someone opens the door a gust of air blows in, and whether it's ushering snow into the house or a fresh lot of rain is falling, it always seems to be cold, especially as compared to my warm little home.

Of course, I'm only out for one month a year, sometimes a little less. After that, all the other Christmas decorations and myself are packed away in the attic in our individual boxes, so that we don't get tangled or lost. All the other ornaments are packed with others of their own kind, but I'm the only one of me. There is no other like me wandering around, packed in another box by mistake. I can see through the clear plastic walls of my packaging, and look at the ornaments or the tinsels conversing and living, but the only time I have anything more interesting to do than sleep or think is when I'm hung out for the holidays.

The last few years, the big day itself has been the same over and again, _I _think. You could ask the angel on top of the tree, and I suppose she'd say it was different from her side, but I think that no matter how many times it happens, it's always got the same basic layout:

We're checked on to make sure none of us are moulting too much, and that we're still giving the same quality service as we have been since we were newly bought. Then the smells of herbs and spices will begin to waft into our room over a period of a few hours. The doorbell will ring, and the guests will arrive bit by bit, and soon they'll eat. When they've all eaten they'll sit around at the dinner table talking for a while, and then put music on. Sometimes background music, and sometimes dancing music – although, if it's only the ambient sort of thing, they'll put on some good dancing music later. I guess they just like moving around to it. It looks like fun to me. Between dinner and the time they go home, they usually become more and more inebriated. It certainly looks amusing from my viewpoint, although I can imagine that if I was a little lower, I'd be in potential danger. Eventually those who don't collapse on the floor stagger out of the door, laughing as they go.

Of course, that's just the basic outline. The intricate details are a lot more different. Like the people coming and going, or the emotional state of half of them.

Since I really have nothing else to do with my time, I've memorised my findings of these people. I've kept in mind their comings and goings, and categorised them, bit-by-bit. I could recite to you the events in sequence, or by person, or even in alphabetical orders – yes, I've given them titles. There's not much else for me to do, now, is there?

It is that day again, and I can feel the smells attaching themselves to me again. They've been doing so for some time now, and I can already hear the doorbell ringing. Gracia, as I have learnt is her name, walks out into the entrance hall and lets the first three guests in, thanking them for being so early. From what I hear, they've promised to help out with preparing things. The two boys – Ed and Al; I've seen them around before – stretch their muscles and make noises about helping with lifting heavy things. The girl with them tells them they'll need to grow some of that muscle they're trying to show off, first, and the smaller one starts shouting something about tiny molecules, and needing to grow.

Eventually, the three are set off to their different tasks, and I spend time watching them curiously. The dining table is moved to make room for the extra table to join it, in order that all the guests can eat together. Chairs are placed alongside it, and the pre-prepared food and drinks are arranged upon them. A punch bowl and some cups are placed off to the side, where the boys loiter when they've finished their job. The girl is helping Gracia out in the kitchen.

The doorbell rings again and Gracia asks if one of the boys can let the new arrival in. The new arrival is actually five men. I recognise Havoc, Feury, Breda and Falman, but the blond with them doesn't look familiar. He mustn't have been before. He's quiet too, but that might just be in relation to the others. Between them, Havoc and Breda are making enough noise that I'm surprised I can't smell alcohol already.

They bundle themselves into the house and start making themselves cosy. Soon enough, Gracia comes out and greets them all properly.

Breda looks around in shock. "Hawkeye's not here yet? Doesn't she usually arrive about half an hour before us?"

He's exaggerating, of course. By my timing, Hawkeye usually arrives between five and ten minutes before them.

"Maria is coming this year and Riza's bringing her, so she might have been set back by the extra traffic," Gracia explains.

Riza is what Gracia calls Hawkeye. To tell the truth, she calls everyone by a different name than the others give them. She calls Havoc 'Jean', and Feury 'Kain', and the others all something else. She calls Ed 'Edward', but then, Hawkeye does that too. And Mustang calls Ed 'Fullmetal', and Falman calls him 'Major Elric', and all the others call him other things as well. I suppose they all have their own names for their friends, it's just some are more common.

Havoc is just starting on the punch when Mustang arrives, and Mustang notices.

"That is still somewhat unspiked, isn't it?" he asks. "I do want to be able to drive home by the end of the evening."

"What for? It's not like we have work tomorrow, chief," Havoc replies with a grin. When Mustang sighs, he adds "I haven't tampered with it yet, though, if you want to get in fast."

Mustang gets a hug when Gracia notices he has arrived. He's been coming to her Christmases for a long time now, longer than any of the others, and he's a good friend, after all.

Not long afterwards, Hawkeye arrives with a brunette by her side. I assume that this is the Maria Gracia mentioned earlier.

Now that everyone is here, the dinner is finally allowed to begin. They settle around at the tables, praising Gracia and 'Winry' (the blonde girl, perhaps?) for the products of their cooking. I can barely see them, as only the end of the table is visible from where I hang. While Breda is chewing up a mouthful, however, he sees me. I can see the smile spread on his face, and he nudges the shoulder next to him. A moment later Feury's head pops into view, and he sees me too.

This year, I'm hanging above one corner of a lounge. Each year I'm relocated, but eventually someone finds me, and it all comes down to the same thing. Now that someone has found me, I know what's coming next. When it happens, it's a little different to usual, though.

After dinner the guests file out into the lounge room to turn some music on and to relax with each other. Gracia has enlisted the help of Havoc and Mustang to carry the punchbowl and a small table out to the room, so that drinks would be more easily accessible.

The blond man that arrived with the all other guys is standing beneath me, talking nervously with Maria when Feury walks past casually, his cough sounding suspiciously like my name. The blond and brunette both look up at me, and with their cheeks turning red, they look at each other hesitantly, and eventually she leans forwards to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. They stutter their way back into conversation ("S-silly traditions.") but I've obviously made them uncomfortable, and Maria leaves to speak with Hawkeye. The blond man watches after her for a moment before looking back at me, and finding somewhere else to stand.

A little while later, loitering once again, Ed is interrupted from his five-second conversation with Winry by Gracia, who smiles at the two of them, and points up at me. Winry puts her head to one side, watching as Ed turns a darker shade of crimson than his coat. By the time he's worked up the nerve to be able to speak again, the whole room is paying attention.

"Go on!"

"It's just a kiss, Fullmetal. Don't get so worked up about it."

Finally, Gracia's gentle "You're not going to keep her waiting, are you?" convinces him (although it does make Winry's face flush dramatically), and Ed pauses one more moment before lunging forwards and planting a quick kiss on Winry's lips. He pulls back quickly, amidst the cheers and laughter of the men. Havoc has spiked the punch by now, and it's starting to take its toll on people.

Ed does no more than sulk in the corner until everyone stops paying attention and they slowly filter into open spaces to dance. When Winry realises he's not going to talk to her any more, she goes off to find Al and dance with him. If I could sigh I would. It seems that I just have the talent to make anyone feel awkward.

"What a pity Scieszka isn't here, eh, Falman?" one of the guys asks with a grin.

Falman frowns, confused. "What? Why?"

The other man looks at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind, you're too thick when it comes to real-life situations, aren't you?"

I haven't met Scieszka before, but by the sound of it, that would just be one more awkward moment to add to the list. I think that moments of awkwardness must be all I'm good for, sometimes.

The songs flicker through different tempos and styles, and eventually people start sitting down, one at a time. While the others are still moving around to the music, Mustang walks over to the lounge. He looks up at me and moves deliberately to the side I am _not_ hanging over. I don't blame him. Not with tradition and all.

He's in animated conversation with Feury from his seat, when Havoc, the tallest of the lot, makes sure he's out of Mustang's peripheral vision before reaching up and plucking me off my place on the ceiling. Feury keeps Mustang distracted while Havoc replaces me, over Mustang's head. When he's done and he's sure I'm not going to fall down, he gives Feury a quick thumbs up and moves off. Feury doesn't waste any more time with the conversation than necessary.

Just nearby, Breda has been talking with Hawkeye. As Feury steps aside and catches his eye, the larger man smiles and turns Hawkeye around quickly, giving her a rough push. Before she can catch herself properly, she staggers forwards a few steps, and her knees buckle as her legs hit the edge of the lounge. A very surprised Mustang finds himself unable to put up his hands in time to stop her flying towards him. He gives a pained yell as her knee meets his crotch, and less than a second later her shoulder slams into his nose. He's altogether in too much pain to pay attention to the breast against his chin.

Even if not everyone in the room saw the incident, they're certainly looking now. When she's finally caught herself, she braces her hands on either side of him, on the back of the lounge, and extricates herself, apologising profusely.

"No, it's alright, Lieutenant," Mustang tells her. 'Lieutenant' is his name for her. One arm is clutched protectively over his crotch, and the other hand wipes at his nose, checking for blood. "Nothing permanent. Hopefully."

Hawkeye takes the time to glare angrily at Breda, who shrugs, not bothering to hide his amusement. He points up at me. "Mistletoe." By this time Havoc and Feury are by his sides, creating a united front.

Mustang and Hawkeye both look up at me, eyes wide. They glance at where I had been – the last place they remember seeing me – and then back at me before turning to scowl at the men.

From the other side of the room Ed laughs. "What was that, Colonel Bastard? '_It's just a kiss. Don't get so worked up about it._'"

The frown on Mustang's face deepens as he looks at the boy, and he turns to Hawkeye exasperatedly. She looks at him worriedly, still seeming to feel guilty for landing on him. He sighs and beckons with a finger. "Come here, Lieutenant."

Obediently, she kneels beside him, and he takes her chin in one hand, tilting her head towards his so that when their lips meet he's slightly higher than she is.

The room is silent, and Havoc and Breda exchange grins. The previous couples of the night appear somewhat shocked, but the rest of the room smiles in amusement. Although the method may be somewhat altered, it's no different to what has happened each year before this one. Ed may have been to Gracia's Christmases previously, but he didn't seem to think his comment would be given such a reception – if I remember correctly, he's only seen quick pecks before this.

Finally, the two pull back, and as Hawkeye's gaze moves to her knees so she has time to gather herself, Mustang looks expectantly back at the others. "Well, the show's over now, everyone. Get back to it."

The guys laugh. "Tradition's tradition, sir. You can't blame us." Then they turn around and get back to their festivities.

I notice Havoc slipping the rest of his flask into the punch, even as Gracia brings out a large jug of eggnog to join it on the table. "Now this one already has alcohol in it, so don't you try adding any more," she tells him sternly before going to fetch cups for it.

Hawkeye stands, smoothing down her skirt.

"Are you alright?" asks Mustang.

"Oh, I'm fine," she tells him. "I'm just sorry for . . . for landing on you like that. Will you be alright, sir?"

He waves it off, but winces when he tries to stand, and she moves to help him up.

"I think next year we might have to show them we can manage it on our own," he tells her when he's standing.

"Sir, not in public."

"It'll certainly save them from insisting on forcing it," he points out. "Might be a bit less painful, too. Come on, let's go get some eggnog. It'll leave us with less of a hangover in the morning than the punch, by now."

The next two hours seem very nondescript to me. The others have gotten over the novelty of my being there, and conversation takes a hold of the evening, people sipping at their cups as they converse. The whole feeling of the house settles down for a little while, until Al begins to doze on the other end of the couch. At that point, Ed decides that it's time for his group to leave. He wakes up his brother, and after saying some noisy farewells, he, Al and Winry leave. Just between the material of their coats, I can see Ed's hand holding Winry's.

Gracia looks at the condition of her guests. The five men who had arrived after the brothers and Winry had carpooled for the sake of Christmas cheer, and it seems that even their driver has consumed a fair amount of 'cheer'. Mustang is still coherent, but has clearly had too much to be allowed on the road, and even the women are on their third and fourth. Gracia makes the announcement that no one is going to be driving home tonight, and although there are one or two disgruntled faces, no one objects.

A cheer goes up from Havoc, startling the blond I have now heard referred to as 'Denny', who is standing beside him.

The party continues on as before, except that now everyone knows they won't be driving, a few pick up their glasses more frequently. Before long, Maria is yawning and Falman's eyes are sliding shut. Gracia begins to allocate rooms, sending Maria off to the absent Elysia's room, and Falman to the guest room.

"The rest of you," she says, "will have to find somewhere comfortable on your own."

"You've got a soft carpet, I'm sure we'll manage," Feury smiles, looking the most awake of all of them.

Gracia looks at the carpet, and disappears, coming back with an armful of pillows and blankets. "We don't have many extras, but I'm sure you'll cope. There are lounge cushions if you're desperate for a pillow," she tells everyone, setting down her armful by the side of a chair. Then she announces she will be going to bed now, too, and to keep the noise down.

Once Gracia is upstairs, Havoc suggests a game of strip poker, searching through a cupboard draw for a pack of cards. Mustang clears his throat, and reminds the other man that there is still a lady present in the room.

Havoc looks over to a highly amused Hawkeye. "Yeah, but she's already seen us all in our skivvies anyway," he says, pulling the pack out. "You want to play too, Hawkeye?" he asks with a grin.

From where I hang, I can just see the side of her face as she raises an eyebrow. "You're wrong – I haven't, but I will play," she tells him. He seems surprised by his luck.

"I wouldn't be so happy about that, Havoc," Mustang tells him, before turning to Hawkeye. "You're free to pull out as soon as you start getting uncomfortable."

The group sits in a circle on the floor – they're less likely to fall off their seats that way – and Havoc shuffles and deals as he speaks. "Alright, everyone. Not including those who fold, the worst hand of every deal removes one item of clothing, the best hand gets to choose what it is and keep it until the owner reclaims it. Essentials to general decency can be reclaimed immediately after the game, but extra pieces not until the morning. Since we have a lady present, we don't go beyond underwear. As soon as every piece of clothing _other_ than underwear is removed, you're out."

The others make general sounds of agreement, and pick up their hands.


	2. The Afterparty

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, mistletoe, eggnog or Christmas.

**Notes:** Here's the second part of my kind of late Christmas-fic. (By now it's more the time for a New Year fic, but I don't have any of those in stock, apologies to all.) I'm hoping to post this story after the Australian New Year (tick) and before the American New Year (. . . erm, I _think_ tick for the most part) so that it can straddle the border between 2007 and 2008. I hope everyone has a good and _safe_ New Year. Mine (over 12 hours ago) was great - some friends and I watched movies, listened to music, popped party-poppers and lit sparklers. Then, since we popped a whole bag of party-poppers, I made a wig out of the streamers from inside them and stuck it in the band of my pony-tail. Good fun. Anyway, I hope everyone has a great time, and I will see you in 2008 when you all join me here ;) Now here's my story!

* * *

**Part Two of Two: The Afterparty**

Half an hour passes and Breda sits out, missing his socks, shoes and watch, but claiming he's too tired to play any more. He takes a big chair in the corner and a blanket, and watches for a little while before falling asleep. He's been told he can't reclaim his belongings before morning, since he's still decent.

Denny sits out the moment he's told he needs to relinquish his shirt. He glances uneasily at Hawkeye, who is thoroughly amused by his discomfort, and hands the garment over before finding himself a place to sleep.

All anyone has had the guts to ask Hawkeye for so far is jewellery and one of her shoes. The earrings and ring she wore gave her a slight advantage over the others, but Havoc makes the comment that she's set back by wearing stockings rather than socks. She asks him why he'd think that, and when he fumbles through an explanation of one pair of stockings versus a pair of socks, she points out that stockings could come joined or separated, and so a pair of stockings could still be in two pieces. That makes him stop, and he and Mustang stare at one another for a moment as they consider the possibility. They are interrupted soon after by Feury's embarrassed cough.

This, I think, is the boldest I've ever seen Hawkeye. Not to say she's usually meek and mild, but on other Christmases she has been a whole lot quieter, much like earlier this evening. I think the alcohol might be prompting her to speak her thoughts out loud. Who would have known she'd be thinking that sort of thing?

Out of the four of them, Hawkeye might just have the best chances. Currently the worst off is Havoc – he's not as good at the game as he seems to make out – but Mustang isn't far behind, and Feury's missing bits and pieces, but nothing major yet. The kid gets up to grab a drink, and the other three ask for one too. By the time he's come back, the cards are dealt and only Hawkeye manages to meet his eyes when she thanks him for her thoroughly spiked punch. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention, so I don't think he can see anything amiss.

When by the end of the hand none of them has asked for a new card, but he's had the most terrible hand ever, he looks at them all and calls them all cheaters. Mustang laughs at him.

"Go on, what hands did you have, then?"

The three of them set down Royal Flushes, with various stages of amusement. Hawkeye has to shush Havoc so that his crowing won't wake Denny or Breda. As compared to Feury's pair of nines it's not hard to tell who the winners are.

"Off your jumper, then," Mustang says, as the mouthpiece of the trio. When Feury says that it doesn't count because they were all cheating, the other man smirks. "If we're all cheating you didn't do a very good job of it, then."

"No, not me. All of _you_."

There is some silly bickering, but finally he's talked around, and when his jumper hits the floor beside him, Havoc says they only did it to help him catch up with the other guys a little. It makes sense.

"You wouldn't do it to Hawkeye," Feury points out, as Hawkeye is clearly winning at the moment.

"No we wouldn't, but she's a lady, and we're gentlemen. Besides, we're saving that for later when we need something to keep us awake."

The men all laugh, and Hawkeye smiles warily to herself. I can see her wheels clicking. Her safest bet would be to not get up from the group until she plans on quitting the game, or at least to get Havoc out first. In fact, she's not very far from succeeding at that goal – he is one pair of trousers away – when her two tens can't beat the other three hands.

As one, the expressions on the guys' faces quieten suspiciously. I can see sweat developing on their foreheads, and finally, the holder of the four-of-a-kind – Havoc's luck turned this match – leans forward, and declares he wants _one_ of Hawkeye's stockings.

She pauses, before asking them to turn around. It is not until she has removed said stocking that they are permitted to look once again.

"Enjoy it for now, Jean," she says while handing it over, "because this is the only time you'll ever touch one of my stockings."

The three men stare in awe until Hawkeye clears her throat, and Havoc drops the material to deal the next round, his hands a little less steady than they had been earlier. His eyes don't seem focussed as he looks at his cards, and it's not just the alcohol in his system because it wasn't affecting him that badly in the last round.

All three men play the next few hands terribly. Havoc is out after the second, only taking so long because he had the presence of mind to fold the first; Mustang has lost his undershirt by the third, and Feury's previous streak of luck seems to be over. Hawkeye plays ruthlessly, not always holding the winning hand, but it's some time before she loses one yet again. Finally, Mustang is left in his boxers, and is out of the game. He reclaims his pants and undershirt, but rather than going to sleep as the others did, he hovers over the game almost protectively. Feury seems more nervous than anything else.

I'd laugh – if I could – at the expression on Feury's face when he realises one of them has to lose. He looks dully at Hawkeye, and seems to be thinking very hard as Mustang deals out the next set of cards. Havoc is watching from a distance, his eyes drooping lower and lower.

"Look . . . Hawkeye," Feury starts, blinking more often than usual.

Hawkeye looks up from her cards and calmly has a sip of her drink.

"I think it's . . . I just . . . I forfeit!"

Mustang, Hawkeye and Havoc stare at Feury. A loud snuffle comes from Breda's sleeping form, and Denny's soft snores pause for a moment before restarting.

"Alright then, I win," Hawkeye says, matter-of-factly.

Feury breathes a sigh of relief, and I can see a slight smile on Mustang's face as he collects the cards and puts them back in their box. Hawkeye stands up and lays down on the lounge beneath me.

"You guys can have the other blanket, since you're on the floor," she tells them, squirming around to make herself comfortable, one hand on her skirt so that it won't ride up.

While she is doing so, Mustang hands the blanket to Feury, and goes to sit with his back against Hawkeye's lounge. Feury gives a smile as he wraps the blanket around himself, and Havoc peeps out from under his eyelids to smirk, but Mustang isn't paying attention, and Hawkeye is closing her eyes already.

When it appears that the others are sleeping, or very close to it, Hawkeye leans over to Mustang, who is trying to fall asleep while sitting up. "Are you alright there, sir?"

"I'll be fine," he whispers back just as quietly.

"'Will be' isn't the same as being so now," she tells him, and sits up. "Come on."

He looks back at the empty space she's made on the lounge. "No, it's alright," he tells her.

"Come _on_," she insists.

There is a pause, but after a moment he shuffles up onto the lounge. "Do you have enough room?"

"I'd tell you if I didn't. Stretch out – that way we can share."

There's a smile on his face as he scoots over and lies on his back, his ankles on her knees. She slides over, laying her hip in the small space between his and the back of the lounge, and resting her head on his shoulder. His eyes flicker up at me for a moment and the smile returns. He presses a light kiss to her head.

"G'night, Riza."

"Mmm. Night, sir."

It's later – much later – but still before the sun has begun to rise, that I can feel my hanging position in the ceiling slipping bit by bit. There's a small jerk and I can feel the pin holding me in place loosen a little. Stupid Havoc for moving me from where I was all safe and secure. He may have checked to make sure I was staying in for that moment when he put me up, but he didn't put me in securely enough to last for more than a few hours. If I was able to do anything about it, I would be clutching on to the ceiling right now. I am not as fortunate as humans in my limbs, however, and so as the sun begins to peek over the horizon I cannot help but fall from my place, directly onto the chest of the sleeping Mustang. He twitches a little, but does not wake.

So here I sit, half a foot from Mustang's chin, and mere inches from Hawkeye's face. I've observed these people from afar before, but never so close. It's much easier to see the scars peeking out from underneath Mustang's undershirt this way, and I can count the individual eyelashes on Hawkeye's eyes.

It mustn't be more than ten minutes after my fall when I can hear footsteps above me. Gracia appears at the top of the stairs, and although she looks sleepy her step is as sprightly as usual. She walks directly into the kitchen, and I can hear the usual noises of breakfast. Not long afterwards, Maria makes her way downstairs as well, following the sounds to the kitchen.

Now, the other men in the lounge room seem to be slowly drifting out of sleep. A few make various waking up noises (without moving), and Denny rolls over. Beyond that, these guys don't seem to be conscious.

When Falman comes downstairs – some lovely smells in the kitchen seem to have stirred everyone a little more – he pauses at the bottom. From this side of the lounge I can only see the top of his head, but I can see enough to know his gaze is directed towards the lounge room. He steps forwards, and looks down at me. Or, really, at the two with me.

Silently, the man steps back and hurries on into the kitchen. I can hear him greet the ladies in there with a "Good morning."

"Good morning, Vato," Gracia replies in a cheerful tone. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than that lot out there," he tells her. "I had a bed. Although, the First Lieutenant and Colonel seem comfortable enough."

There is a pause, and when Maria speaks up she sounds confused. "What do you mean?"

"Go look for yourself."

I can hear the women's hesitant approach, and can see them coming. When Maria's head pokes over the edge of the lounge, her eyes widen considerably.

Gracia brings a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my . . ."

Although I know they aren't staring at me, I can't help but feel embarrassed. I'm right in the middle of this mess, after all, and it's just like yet another awkward moment I'm causing. I don't understand what about me just makes these sort of events happen. Sometimes I've wished I could just be some tinsel, or a bell. That way I'd be one of many, instead of a lonely old me who is the only one doing this terrible job.

"Should we wake them up?" Maria asks.

"No. No, they're amongst friends," Gracia says with determination. "Let them be for now." Reluctantly taking her eyes away from the scene, she then ushers Maria back out to the kitchen.

The smell of mushrooms, tomatoes, eggs and bacon all cooking soon permeates the air, and I can hear the movement of plates and cutlery in the kitchen. Either they're preparing for the others, or the three who are awake are eating while those in the lounge room sleep in. Nevertheless, the smells and sounds combine to wake up those in the last stages of sleep already. Denny, who has been restless for some time now, and Breda both begin to drift back to the land of the living.

Denny gets up easily, staring for a moment at the people on my lounge, before high-tailing it out of the area.

Breda is a little slower in rising. He squints at the sun shining in through the window, putting a hand to his brow. With a groan he picks himself up, and doesn't seem to notice much around himself as he moves towards breakfast. On the way he accidentally bumps into Feury, who jerks awake.

Feury groans, just as repulsed by the light stabbing into his eyes. Laying back down for a minute, he blows a sigh out and reaching for his glasses, which Breda's feet did not find, luckily. He is crawling his way into a standing position when he notices me and my companions. A twitch of a smile lands on his face – marred only by the grimace put there by the sun. In time, he too makes his way out to the kitchen.

More greetings and conversation are passed between the people who, by the sound of it, are now making good work of the food Gracia and Maria prepared. A few minutes pass before Gracia walks out into the lounge room, sparing a casual glance towards my lounge before walking over to Havoc.

Crouching down beside him, she shakes his shoulder. "Jean, there's breakfast out in the kitchen if you're hungry."

An incomprehensible mumble comes out of his mouth, and one of his hands waves her away.

"Alright, just come when you're ready," she tells him, and stands back up. She looks at Mustang and Hawkeye again, but passes them by and heads back into the kitchen without bothering them.

Hawkeye shifts a bit in her position, but her eyes stay shut. I think she might be beginning to wake up. Sure enough, after I wait a little longer (really, what else is there for me to do? I can't hang myself back up) she opens her mouth in a yawn, and her eyes blink blearily. It doesn't take long for them to widen uncertainly, although they don't look as focused as they would be later in the day. She is squinting because of the sunlight, and blinks a lot, but still seems very surprised by the man whose shoulder she's laying on, and whose hand is resting on her waist.

Havoc is still lolling about, and so I assume he doesn't see the way she's trying to disentangle herself from this mess. She manages to brace herself on the side of Mustang she's on right now, and sets her hand and knee on the other side of him to get up, and so swings across above me. In the process, however, she doesn't seem to take into account the light-headedness and loss of dexterity that usually comes from alcohol, thus managing to set her knee down in Mustang's crotch for the second time in two days. Needless to say, it is not a very pleasant awakening for him.

A strangled-sounding "Aaagh!" comes out of his mouth as he sits up a very little.

In her haste to get off of him, Hawkeye slips, knocking me to the floor even as she falls, herself, landing with a thud. I can't see anywhere near as well from here – especially as I have the lounge on one side of me, and Hawkeye on the other side blocking the view of the rest of the room – but I can see Hawkeye scrambling to her knees and leaning over Mustang.

"S-sorry, sir, are you alright?" she asks.

A string of curse words come out of Mustang's mouth (Hawkeye winces), soon followed by a very succinct "Yes. I'm fine." His voice is different – a little more gravelly – but I assume that's just his morning voice.

"Are you trying to sterilise the chief or something, Hawkeye?" Havoc asks from the other side of the room. I assume Mustang's yell woke him properly.

"Or something, Havoc," she answers irritably.

"Ah well. Now's as good a time as any for breakfast, since I'm awake," Havoc reasons. "Nothing like a list of oaths coarser than sandpaper to get you up in the morning." I can see him just around Hawkeye's left leg as he gets up slowly and stretches his arms out.

Breda's voice joins the group. "Is everything alright in here?"

"Oh yeah – Hawkeye's just decided she's not the motherly type, that's all."

I can see Hawkeye's head move around to look at Havoc, and I assume that she's giving him a suspicious, angry glare. I know I would be, if I could. The voice that asks "What?", however, is Mustang's.

"Never mind. It's breakfast time."

Havoc disappears behind Hawkeye before reappearing on her other side, heading for the kitchen. I think Breda must have left with him, because when Hawkeye speaks again, it's in quiet tones rather than for the benefit of the whole room.

"Do you want me to . . . to go get an ice-pack for you, sir?"

"Y- erm. Ah, no. No, I'll be fine in a few minutes . . . Could you help me out to the kitchen, though? I'm starved."

"Good," she says, going to stand unsteadily, "because I might want one for my head in a moment, and I'm not sure how many Gracia has." She pauses, seeing me. After picking me up and setting me on the arm of the lounge, she helps Mustang up. From my new sitting place I watch them make their way out to the kitchen, Mustang with a decided limp and Hawkeye missing both of her stockings.

All years are the same, really, apart from the odd difference. I suppose that it's the little details of a story that make the whole thing change. This year, the little details were more eventful than any of the others that I have experienced. But I'm still here, aren't I? In a week's time I'll be packed up with all of the other decorations and stuffed into a box. I won't see the light of day for almost a whole year, until next Christmas when we do all of this again.

Maybe if I look hopeless enough Gracia might get me a companion. Then, amongst all of this laughter and cheer and loneliness, I could at least have someone to tell all about it at the end of the season, when we're packed up together.


End file.
